


Perversion

by storyspinner70



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:57:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21971287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyspinner70/pseuds/storyspinner70
Summary: Sam was kidnapped three days ago and he couldn’t figure out why Dean hadn’t found him yet. His captor had so far not done much, but he could feel his good fortune ticking down with every moment that passed. When he woke one morning with no blindfold and his grinning kidnapper smirking at him, he realized his horror had truly just begun.Written for Palishere for the 2019 SPN J2 Xmas Exchange! I hope it's okay!
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66
Collections: SPN J2 Xmas Exchange





	Perversion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [palishere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palishere/gifts).



****A/N:**** Ugh, I got home much much much later than I expected so this is late :( Written for Palishere during the 2019 SPN J2 Secret Santa Exchange. I’ve used some from their first and fourth prompts - _Non-Con Rape Wincest Tease/Denial, edging_ and _Sam’s been kidnapped and the kidnapper has a strange obsession with Sam’s hair - Petting him and treating him like a tied up puppy_. Possible spoilers, though I've kept things as vague as I could. Set somewhere around episode 4 or 5 of season 15.

It had been at least three days. If he were honest, Sam was wondering what was taking his brother so long. To be fair, he’d been blindfolded and bound since he’d been taken from his bed, but he didn’t feel woozy and there wasn’t any painful spots on his head or body, so he was counting out a physical attack or lingering drugs for the fact he had no idea how he got snatched.

That and the fact that he’d always been pretty good with predicting both time and distance, he was confident that he was right. So where was Dean? He could hear normal and expected sounds outside, so he couldn’t be somewhere too isolated and, assuming he wasn’t out for much longer than he thought, he had to be within a day’s travel of the bunker.

That assumption though. That was kind of getting to Sam. A lot if he was honest. It wasn’t the best feeling to wake up with your limbs bound, your mouth gagged and a blindfold on to begin with. When you realize you presumably slept through the entire thing without so much as a whimper, it becomes even more alarming.

At first he struggled but could get no traction with any of his bindings. He’d panicked thinking it was Chuck, but it just didn’t seem like Chuck’s style. This wasn’t subtle and it wasn’t some kind of blunt trauma fever dream like God had proven he liked most.

As the day ticked by and nothing happened, he thought of and rejected a thousand ideas of who, or what, could have kidnapped him.

 _Chuck?_ It was looking less likely every moment.

 _Your run of the mill pervert?_ Doubtful, no one had so much as been by to look at him the entire day he’d been awake and a quick catalog of discomforts didn’t suggest any kind of physical or sexual assault.

 _Demons?_ No way. They’d have dragged him to Hell long ago if they had him. _Unless they were using him to get to Dean._ Nah, there were better ways to trap a Winchester. _Was there though?_

So Sam waited. He concentrated. The skin on his wrists were flayed and his shoulders and hips were aching. The room was quiet and oppressive and chilly. He listened and stared into the darkness of his blindfold until the black swirled and danced in front of his eyes.

 _There._ A step. The swish of clothes. The door.

A man. Heavy steps. Boots. He smelled like wood smoke and rotten leaves. Like the cold. Petrichor and decay. Like dust.

Sam lay still and the man shuffled around the room. He checked the curtains, rattled bags and some plastics. Sat on Sam’s bed.

He said nothing but Sam could feel the tape peeling away from his face. He opened his mouth to scream, to ask questions - something - but fingers drove into the hinge of his jaw and the bottom of his chin instead. The man gave him water but very little chance to swallow it then fed him bits of the same type of burger Sam could smell still fresh on the man’s breath.

The man efficiently changed the tape keeping Sam quiet then stood and undid Sam’s pants. Sam thrashed, but the man simply continued, gave Sam a few moments to use the urinal and tucked him back away.

Sam stilled when the man sat back down, waiting for what came next, but the moments ticked by with nothing but the man’s breath and the occasional slide of his fingers against each other. Then came the first touch, tentative and light against his hair. There was the rasp of callused fingers against the smoothness of his strands and the deeper sound when the man brushed against his blindfold.

Sam frowned but nothing else happened. It was just this stranger - the one that sounded and smelled and felt human, that was speechless and apparently only interested in Sam’s hair - dragging his fingers through and over Sam’s hair, sliding it under the blindfold to tuck behind Sam’s ears, scratching over his scalp like he was some beloved pet.

Sam could see a sliver of light as the man continued to play with Sam’s hair. He was clearly dislodging Sam’s blindfold. Taking advantage, Sam discreetly shifted his head on the pillow underneath him, trying to move the wrap further.

A few minutes later, the man stopped and Sam felt the blindfold slide back into place, and tape press firmly against his skin. He carefully didn’t react. The next sound was the solid thunk of a door.

The man came twice the next day. He fed Sam, gave him water and let him use the bathroom. Then he returned, running his fingers through Sam’s hair again and again. Sam felt his silence like a drum, the beat of _so wrong so wrong_ in an otherwise normal sounding room.

He fell asleep that night with sounds and smells and clues swirling around his head.

*

He could tell when he woke that something was different. There was light behind his lids, first of all. The slight pressure of the blindfold gone, his skin tender and smarting where the tape had been.

He pried his eyes open slowly blinking as they adjusted and the things in the room swam into view. Oh, the man was there. He’d finally see who…

“Heya Sammy.”

“Dean?” Sam mumbled from behind the gag, the tape pulling at his skin and the stubble thickening on his jaw.

Dean stood and walked toward him.

 _Finally,_ Sam thought. _I hope he killed the bastard._

Instead of freeing Sam though, Dean drew next to the bed and sat on the edge. Sam frowned and pulled against his bindings. 

Dean took a short breath then turned to Sam, running his fingers over the rope tying Sam to the bed.

Sam glared, confusion and anger and fear fighting for space in his mind. What was going on? Why wasn’t he free already? 

Dean reached down and brushed Sam’s hair out of his eye. “I always secretly loved your hair, Sammy.”

The last couple of days flashed through Sam’s mind. The sounds, the smells, the feel of callused skin in his hair. He started to scream through his gag and strain against his bonds. 

“Shh, none of that, Sammy,” Dean whispered. “You’ll hurt yourself.” He leaned closer. “We can’t have that, now can we?”

Sam waited for Dean’s eyes to go black. For some shapeshifter to give himself away. For something to prove this wasn’t Dean. That is wasn’t his brother that cut away his pants with a carelessness that left Sam with several shallow, seeping cuts. That it wasn’t his Dean that rummaged around in an all too familiar duffel for a cock cage and a leather paddle.

No proof came. Only pain.

Only Dean biting and clawing way too hard and fucking into him endlessly with no regard. Only Dean who no longer fed Sam or gave him water, because the one time he’d tried Sam immediately started screaming an exorcism. Dean let him say the entire thing, a kind of sad, vicious smile on his face.

When nothing happened and Sam started in on a spell, Dean reached for more tape and then never took it off again.

He didn’t understand. He just… He didn’t understand.

He had no idea how long it went on. He couldn’t have said what his brother had done to him or when. All he knew was confusion and pain.

His body was used to Dean fucking into him, and when the agony was low and his mind at its fuzziest, he could feel it trying to respond. The cage and the stinging ache made sure he couldn’t - maybe wouldn’t ever again. Certainly never to Dean.

His Dean and this Dean weaved together into a seamless portrait he could neither reconcile or recognize. Time passed in waves of hurt, not in moments, and Sam lay stunned, covered in come and blood and spit through it all, praying to anyone that would listen that it was another nightmare.

It wasn’t until Dean stopped and put his ear near Sam’s gag that Sam realized he’d been whispering that over and over. Dean pulled back, disgust heavy on his face.

“I thought this was what you wanted, Sammy,” he hissed. “Isn’t this what you’re always longing for?” He swept his hand down the long length of his body. “Well?”

Sam could only frown and shake his head.

“Isn’t it, though?” Dean leaned down and Sam tried to jerk away. Dean simply moved farther up Sam’s body and was sitting on Sam’s chest, Sam’s head clutched in his hands. “I was getting bored anyway,” he said.

Sam’s eyes widened in terror.

“Don’t worry, Sammy. It’s time for another story.”

*

Sam woke screaming, but he wasn’t tied and the Dean that bolted up to soothe him was _not_ the same one that had tortured him. Sam gasped for breath and he struggled to alternately drag Dean closer and shove him far far away. Dean wrapped around him and stayed anyway, whispering to him in the same voice that had taunted Sam in his dream.

Sam’s shoulder was on fire and his head was pounding, but he was as safe as a Winchester got. It would have to do.

Later, when Dean had drifted back off to sleep, Sam tentatively touched his face. “I knew it wasn’t you,” he whispered. “I knew it wasn’t you.”

He closed his eyes and pushed his head under Dean’s chin. He wouldn’t sleep again tonight, maybe not for days, but he could rest. Could breathe to the rhythm of his brother’s heart under his ear and the smoky smell of sweat and dirt and cologne.

He missed the look of horror on his brother’s wide awake face, but he felt the arms tighten around his back. For tonight at least, it was enough.


End file.
